


fresh as the bright blue sky

by spinningincircles



Series: da capo [2]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Cellist!Eddie, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Gratuitous Descriptions of Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/pseuds/spinningincircles
Summary: “Nothing looks good?” Eddie asks. Chris shrugs, eyes flitting around the living room like they’re looking for inspiration. Suddenly, he lights up, smiling as he turns back to his dad.“What about that song you used to sing when I was a baby? Could you play that?”For the second time in barely 20 minutes, Eddie is touched by howsweethis son is, and by the fact that Chris even remembers something like that.
Relationships: Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: da capo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027176
Comments: 11
Kudos: 105





	fresh as the bright blue sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [extasiswings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/gifts).



> for my dearest darling chapel, happy birthday my love!! <3
> 
> title from "sweet child o mine" by guns n roses

“Dad, I’m _bored_ ,” Chris moans, flopping onto Eddie’s lap from the other end of the couch. He can’t blame him too much — they’d run the entire gamut of rainy day activities, from Mario Kart to Lilo & Stitch to a puzzle to reading and back again, and it was only 2:00pm. Frankly, he’s surprised Chris hadn’t cracked sooner.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Eddie says as he runs his hand through Chris’ curls. “We could watch another movie? Or we could dig a board game out of your closet. Or maybe—”

“ _Or_ you could play something.”

“Sure I could. But how is that fun for you?”

“Because I love hearing you play.”

He wraps Chris up in a bear hug at that, face buried in his hair as he wills the happy tears away so he doesn’t think he’s upset. He goes to the hall closet and gets his cello and sheet music out, handing the folder to Chris as he opens the case. “Whatever piece you want.”

Chris slowly flips through the pages as Eddie rosins his bow and tunes up. He’s tried to teach him the names of the pieces he likes, but they never seem to stick. Instead, whenever he has a request, he just asks for “the one that goes like this” before humming a few bars. It honestly makes Eddie more proud that he remembers the tune over the title, like maybe he really _does_ pay attention when he listens to the music. However, since he has no idea what any of the titles mean, Eddie isn’t really sure what he’ll pick.

Chris shuts the folder eventually, frowning.

“Nothing looks good?” Eddie asks. Chris shrugs, eyes flitting around the living room like they’re looking for inspiration. Suddenly, he lights up, smiling as he turns back to his dad.

“What about that song you used to sing when I was a baby? Could you play that?”

For the second time in barely 20 minutes, Eddie is touched by how _sweet_ his son is, and by the fact that Chris even remembers something like that. 

He wasn’t (isn’t) much of a singer, but that first night after Shannon left, Eddie tried everything to get Chris to go to sleep, but he wouldn’t stop crying or asking for Mom. Exhausted, Eddie had sat down in the rocking chair in Chris’ room and started absentmindedly humming “Sweet Child O Mine”, partially to drown out some of the crying and partially because he remembered his mom singing to him and his sisters when they wouldn’t sleep, so he figured it was worth a shot. Chris quieted down almost instantly, and it bolstered Eddie on until he was full out singing and bouncing Chris to the beat, even quietly doing the guitar solos towards the end. Chris giggled through most of the first round, but by the end of the second time through, he was out like a light. 

That became Eddie’s go-to whenever he was being too fussy, and it worked every time. Somewhere along the way it must have wormed its way into Chris’ subconscious if he’s recalling it now, on a rainy Thursday afternoon, when Eddie hasn’t sung it to him in well over two years. 

It’s baffling, really, to be reminded of the impact he’s had on his kid, even with something so inconsequential. 

“I can give it a shot,” he says. Chris cheers as he sits down on the couch next to Eddie, far enough away that he won’t get hit by the bow. Eddie takes a breath as he puts the bow on the strings and pauses. He knows the song well, but it takes a minute for the notes to process through his brain and translate to fingerings he can play. He’s never been exceptional at playing by ear, but he has nothing to be nervous about now — he knows Chris will be over the moon to hear whatever he plays, even if it’s less than perfect.

He starts, of course, with the opening riff, and everything flows a lot easier than he expected from there. As rock ‘n’ roll as it sounds on guitar, it’s softer on cello, sweeter, the love in the lyrics coming out even in their absence. It seems to fill the room with light and warmth that’s been missing on this dreary day, and it only gets brighter when Chris smiles and starts humming along. He sways with the music, eyes closed, and Eddie feels his heart squeeze at the joy on his son’s face. Joy that _he_ put there by sharing music — the thing that he loves just a little less than Chris — with him. By the time he gets to the last chorus, they’re both singing along, Eddie with words and Chris more just matching pitch. He finishes with a flourish and Chris bursts into applause. 

It’s the best applause Eddie’s ever gotten.

There’s more than just one person clapping, though, and Eddie turns around to see Buck standing near the entryway, just getting home from a shift. Judging by the soft smile and fond look in his eyes, he’s been standing there for a while.

“Buck!” Chris yells. Buck strides over to the couch, scooping Chris up and spinning him around, his giggles filling the room and making it brighter still. He smacks a kiss on Chris’ cheek before dropping to the couch next to Eddie. 

“Sounds like you guys had a good day.” Buck says. 

“We did! Did you hear Dad play? He sang that song to me when I was little and he played it _without_ looking at the music! Isn’t that cool?”

Eddie feels his cheeks get warm at the praise, and they get even warmer when Buck looks at him and smiles that little smile that says _Do you have any idea how cute you are?_

He doesn’t, usually. But today, he can let himself indulge. 

“I heard the very end of it, and it sounded _great_. But maybe we can hear it one more time?” Buck says, and they both turn to him expectantly.

It’s an easy answer. 

“Anything for you two,” he says, placing his bow back on the strings. Buck stands up with Chris again, twirling him around the living room again, singing off-key and at the top of his lungs. They’re both laughing so hard they’re crying by the time Eddie finishes again, and they ask for two more encores, which Eddie happily provides. 

He wasn’t kidding: he’d do _anything_ for his family, who bring him so much happiness on a daily basis without even trying, who fill his life with more joy than he ever thought he deserved. Sharing this part of him, making them smile and filling their home with music, is the very least he can do.

**Author's Note:**

> [for your listening pleasure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szL6F5bsm88)
> 
> come yell about cellist!eddie (or any iteration of eddie) on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/) with me!


End file.
